As I sat there in our familiar left field (Section 32 or 33) seats, I realized the unimportance of the Red Sox's roster. I also realized that we weren't talking about today's game and we weren't talking about the season. I also realized why I was there.

Stevie, Chris and I talked about the umpteen other Opening Day games that we had shared. We focused on some of the parking intrigue that we had creating--illegally parking somewhere in Brookline, sneaking into the Harvard Community Health Plan parking lot, parking at Lechmere and Riverside and taking the T. We tried to remember who had missed Opening Day games and for what reasons--for me it was a week of fifth grade camp, for Stevie a postponed game that didn't fit on the schedule.

Like sports in general, the great memories I have of bygone Opening Days do not have to do with what happened on the field. They're all about getting to the ball park, sitting in the stands and just talking.

When was talking to my friend, I turned the question around and asked him if he liked sports. He admitted that in fact he did not. When I asked why, he thought for a minute and said that he didn't know.

Well, I think I have found the reason why he doesn't value a day at the park as much as I do. I suspected that my friend's family wasn't interested in sports, that they never spent time together at sporting events and that father never passed the sports page to son at the breakfast table.

When it comes to sports, parents, family outings and memories accumulated therein make all the difference.